CHAPTER XI
It must be remembered that the description I have just given ofthe Swift One is not the description that would have been given byBig-Tooth, my other self of my dreams, my prehistoric ancestor. It is bythe medium of my dreams that I, the modern man, look through the eyes ofBig-Tooth and see.
And so it is with much that I narrate of the events of that far-offtime. There is a duality about my impressions that is too confusing toinflict upon my readers. I shall merely pause here in my narrative toindicate this duality, this perplexing mixing of personality. It is I,the modern, who look back across the centuries and weigh and analyze theemotions and motives of Big-Tooth, my other self. He did not botherto weigh and analyze. He was simplicity itself. He just lived events,without ever pondering why he lived them in his particular and oftenerratic way.
As I, my real self, grew older, I entered more and more into thesubstance of my dreams. One may dream, and even in the midst of thedream be aware that he is dreaming, and if the dream be bad, comforthimself with the thought that it is only a dream. This is a commonexperience with all of us. And so it was that I, the modern, oftenentered into my dreaming, and in the consequent strange dual personalitywas both actor and spectator. And right often have I, the modern, beenperturbed and vexed by the foolishness, illogic, obtuseness, and generalall-round stupendous stupidity of myself, the primitive.
And one thing more, before I end this digression. Have you ever dreamedthat you dreamed? Dogs dream, horses dream, all animals dream. InBig-Tooth's day the half-men dreamed, and when the dreams were bad theyhowled in their sleep. Now I, the modern, have lain down with Big-Toothand dreamed his dreams.
This is getting almost beyond the grip of the intellect, I know; but Ido know that I have done this thing. And let me tell you that theflying and crawling dreams of Big-Tooth were as vivid to him as thefalling-through-space dream is to you.
For Big-Tooth also had an other-self, and when he slept that other-selfdreamed back into the past, back to the winged reptiles and the clashand the onset of dragons, and beyond that to the scurrying, rodent-likelife of the tiny mammals, and far remoter still, to the shore-slime ofthe primeval sea. I cannot, I dare not, say more. It is all too vagueand complicated and awful. I can only hint of those vast and terrificvistas through which I have peered hazily at the progression of life,not upward from the ape to man, but upward from the worm.
And now to return to my tale. I, Big-Tooth, knew not the Swift One as acreature of finer facial and bodily symmetry, with long-lashed eyes anda bridge to her nose and down-opening nostrils that made toward beauty.I knew her only as the mild-eyed young female who made soft sounds anddid not fight. I liked to play with her, I knew not why, to seek foodin her company, and to go bird-nesting with her. And I must confess shetaught me things about tree-climbing. She was very wise, very strong,and no clinging skirts impeded her movements.
It was about this time that a slight defection arose on the part ofLop-Ear. He got into the habit of wandering off in the direction of thetree where my mother lived. He had taken a liking to my vicious sister,and the Chatterer had come to tolerate him. Also, there were severalother young people, progeny of the monogamic couples that lived in theneighborhood, and Lop-Ear played with these young people.
I could never get the Swift One to join with them. Whenever I visitedthem she dropped behind and disappeared. I remember once making a strongeffort to persuade her. But she cast backward, anxious glances, thenretreated, calling to me from a tree. So it was that I did not make apractice of accompanying Lop-Ear when he went to visit his new friends.The Swift One and I were good comrades, but, try as I would, I couldnever find her tree-shelter. Undoubtedly, had nothing happened, wewould have soon mated, for our liking was mutual; but the something didhappen.
One morning, the Swift One not having put in an appearance, Lop-Earand I were down at the mouth of the slough playing on the logs. We hadscarcely got out on the water, when we were startled by a roar of rage.It was Red-Eye. He was crouching on the edge of the timber jam andglowering his hatred at us. We were badly frightened, for here wasno narrow-mouthed cave for refuge. But the twenty feet of water thatintervened gave us temporary safety, and we plucked up courage.
Red-Eye stood up erect and began beating his hairy chest with his fist.Our two logs were side by side, and we sat on them and laughed at him.At first our laughter was half-hearted, tinged with fear, but as webecame convinced of his impotence we waxed uproarious. He raged andraged at us, and ground his teeth in helpless fury. And in our fanciedsecurity we mocked and mocked him. We were ever short-sighted, we Folk.
Red-Eye abruptly ceased his breast-beating and tooth-grinding, and ranacross the timber-jam to the shore. And just as abruptly our merrimentgave way to consternation. It was not Red-Eye's way to forego revenge soeasily. We waited in fear and trembling for whatever was to happen. Itnever struck us to paddle away. He came back with great leaps across thejam, one huge hand filled with round, water-washed pebbles. I am gladthat he was unable to find larger missiles, say stones weighing twoor three pounds, for we were no more than a score of feet away, and hesurely would have killed us.
As it was, we were in no small danger. Zip! A tiny pebble whirredpast with the force almost of a bullet. Lop-Ear and I began paddlingfrantically. Whiz-zip-bang! Lop-Ear screamed with sudden anguish. Thepebble had struck him between the shoulders. Then I got one and yelled.The only thing that saved us was the exhausting of Red-Eye's ammunition.He dashed back to the gravel-bed for more, while Lop-Ear and I paddledaway.
Gradually we drew out of range, though Red-Eye continued making tripsfor more ammunition and the pebbles continued to whiz about us. Outin the centre of the slough there was a slight current, and in ourexcitement we failed to notice that it was drifting us into the river.We paddled, and Red-Eye kept as close as he could to us by followingalong the shore. Then he discovered larger rocks. Such ammunitionincreased his range. One fragment, fully five pounds in weight, crashedon the log alongside of me, and such was its impact that it drove ascore of splinters, like fiery needles, into my leg. Had it struck me itwould have killed me.
And then the river current caught us. So wildly were we paddling thatRed-Eye was the first to notice it, and our first warning was his yellof triumph. Where the edge of the current struck the slough-water was aseries of eddies or small whirlpools. These caught our clumsy logs andwhirled them end for end, back and forth and around. We quit paddlingand devoted our whole energy to holding the logs together alongsideeach other. In the meanwhile Red-Eye continued to bombard us, the rockfragments falling about us, splashing water on us, and menacing ourlives. At the same time he gloated over us, wildly and vociferously.
It happened that there was a sharp turn in the river at the pointwhere the slough entered, and the whole main current of the river wasdeflected to the other bank. And toward that bank, which was the northbank, we drifted rapidly, at the same time going down-stream. Thisquickly took us out of range of Red-Eye, and the last we saw of himwas far out on a point of land, where he was jumping up and down andchanting a paean of victory.
Beyond holding the two logs together, Lop-Ear and I did nothing. We wereresigned to our fate, and we remained resigned until we aroused to thefact that we were drifting along the north shore not a hundred feetaway. We began to paddle for it. Here the main force of the current wasflung back toward the south shore, and the result of our paddling wasthat we crossed the current where it was swiftest and narrowest. Beforewe were aware, we were out of it and in a quiet eddy.
Our logs drifted slowly and at last grounded gently on the bank. Lop-Earand I crept ashore. The logs drifted on out of the eddy and swept awaydown the stream. We looked at each other, but we did not laugh. We werein a strange land, and it did not enter our minds that we could returnto our own land in the same manner that we had come.
We had learned how to cross a river, though we did not know it. And thiswas something that no one else of the Folk had ever done. We were thefirst of the
Folk to set foot on the north bank of the river, and, forthat matter, I believe the last. That they would have done so in thetime to come is undoubted; but the migration of the Fire People, andthe consequent migration of the survivors of the Folk, set back ourevolution for centuries.
Indeed, there is no telling how disastrous was to be the outcome ofthe Fire People's migration. Personally, I am prone to believe that itbrought about the destruction of the Folk; that we, a branch of lowerlife budding toward the human, were nipped short off and perished downby the roaring surf where the river entered the sea. Of course, in suchan eventuality, I remain to be accounted for; but I outrun my story, andsuch accounting will be made before I am done.